Do You Mind if I Ask Why?

 On January 1, 1996, I woke up feeling like crap. This wasn't unusual from either group or personal perspectives. Countless people woke up with hangovers on that day and for me, while it was less common than it had been over the previous 15 years or so, it still happened. Funnily enough, I hadn't consumed nearly as much alcohol as I had on so many other occasions, but I also hadn't eaten very much, so that probably had something to do with the sad state I was in. This time, though, something had shifted and I thought to myself, 'This is so stupid. I'm not doing this anymore.' And I didn't. I was lucky. Somehow I was able to really focus on how I was feeling and associate that with my behaviour around booze, so I actually felt repulsed by the idea of having a drink, instead of having to deal with cravings and the difficulties that come with recovery. Having just a drink or two was never going to be an option, because I knew myself well enough to know that if I started, I wasn't going to stop there, so I just never started--and never wanted to. I went on with my life. Then we moved to Ireland.

Shortly after we got here, we met up with a woman we'd been corresponding with online for a while. Her husband is also from the US. She invited us to spend a couple days at their house, staying overnight. Before dinner, she asked us what we wanted to drink--wine, beer, something else. I opted for coffee. She asked me why I didn't want a drink and then asked if I drank at all. I said I didn't. 'Do you mind if I ask why?' she replied. 'I don't mind at all. I used to drink way too much, so I stopped.' I answered. Then she explained how she doesn't drink that much and only sometimes, and that sort of thing. I was taken aback. I really didn't care what her drinking habits were--she was in her home and not driving anywhere, so none of my business. I nodded, smiled, and probably made some meaningless remark.

A couple months later, our lovely neighbour invited me to her women-only birthday party, telling me not to bring anything except whatever I wanted to drink. It was summer, so I got some sparkling water with lemon. At the party, I sat between two older women. One was telling me her history about how she went to Chicago for a while to live with an aunt and uncle, arriving at Christmastime and being awed by all the lights and decorations. The other one occasionally made some comments that I found amusing, including that she'd seen us walking around with our backpacks and was so happy that her friend had respectable people as new neighbours. Eventually, she said to me, 'I notice that you're drinking water. Don't you want a drink?' 'No, thank you,' I replied, 'The water is perfect.' Then she asked me if I ever drink. I said I didn't. 'Do you mind if I ask why?' she said. My reply was the same as above. I started getting really interested in why I was being interrogated for my choice to not drink. I was even more interested in the story she told me about her nephew, who stopped drinking and then felt unable to engage in any social activities whatsoever, so never left his house. Then she went on to say, with her slurred speech and while waving the glass that held her 6th or 7th gin and tonic around, 'I've had three and I wouldn't have another if ya shot me for it. I know when I've had enough.'

I came across a book at the library not long after that--a memoir written by an Irish guy who started drinking to excess when a young teenager and who was, at the time of writing, in recovery. He talked about how hard it was to hang out with friends after he stopped drinking because everyone else was and usually to the point where they were drunk. This was at a time when non-drinkers didn't really have too many options in pubs and other such places. As he described it, pubs were where social life happened. People didn't visit each other in their homes, they met at pubs. Celebrations happened at pubs. First communion? Pub. Birthday? Pub. A day ending in 'y'? Pub. Everything was at the pubs. I found that book very useful. As we've lived for the last year near the loud bar and in this village where there are a lot of drunk people wandering the streets yelling, I have started thinking about another reason not drinking would make socializing difficult. It must be a very different experience yelling along to Zombie, slurring through some songs you don't know the words to during karaoke, whooping at the same old bad covers of bad country western songs, or doing a call and response version of Sweet Caroline on opposite ends of Main St when you're drunk than it is when sober. And the whole thing must seem boring and embarrassing if you're not toasted. 

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